Tired of the Game - Revised (Extended)
by YangHuiZhen
Summary: Tired of chopping heads and facing other immortals, Methos decides to vanish into thin air again and to return to a place, whereto he once accompanied an old friend of his. Carried away by his memories and admitting to himself that he has no wish to become "The One", he decides that it's time to sum up his life.
1. Prologue: Tired of the Game

**Disclaimer:**

I don't own the characters, storylines or quotations of the 'Highlander' universe, but I do own the OCs and the storylines I invented and created for this fan-fiction story.

* * *

 **Summary:**

Tired of chopping heads and facing other immortals, Methos decides to vanish into thin air again and to return to a place, whereto he once accompanied an old friend of his.

Carried away by memories and admitting to himself that, even though he still loves his life, he still doesn't believe in being able to get up the nerve to fight for being „The One", he decides that it's time to sum up his life.

* * *

 **Prologue: Tired of the Game**

* * *

Byron: "Do you want a tombstone that says, 'He Lived For Centuries' or do you want one that says, 'For Centuries He Was Alive'?"

Methos: "You're not listening to me. I don't want a tombstone."

(Highlander: TV-Series - Episode 'The Modern Prometheus')

* * *

 **Austria, Tyrol – The former Province Noricum – Present**

* * *

'I am the end of time!'

Kronos' words resounded deep inside my mind and they echoed through my heart ever since the moment I heard him yell them at the Highlander only seconds before his time was up, before Silas' time was up and before my time was up.

'I want him to live...'

If not for McLeod keeping Cassandra from taking my head that day, the legend of the Four Horsemen would slowly have fallen into oblivion, leaving our victim and former slave behind to remain the only one to remember those days of old.

If not for McLeod daring to interfere and to break the age-old rules of the 'Game' we all are attached to, I'd have lost my head to the only one who might have had a right to take it.

That day, trapped inside the derelict and almost surreal surroundings of that abandoned power station, truly marked the end of time – not only for those I once considered my brothers in everything but birth but also for me.

I felt shattered and exhausted like I never did before and even though I knew I wasn't the same any longer like I had been thousands of years ago, I also knew that this part of my past would always be able to catch up with me and to affect me, my actions and those close to me.

The bitter tears I cried while I knelt by Silas' side, I did not just cry them over the loss of my brothers or over the loss of a long lost past and long forgotten memories which tried to drag me back in time without mercy while reminding me of what I kept hidden deep inside my innermost. I also cried them for myself and the unkind truth that no matter how hard I might have tried there were things I couldn't run from. And I also cried them shattered to the core over the loyalty of a friend, who decided to trust me no matter the circumstances and the inability to forgive of a woman whom I missed to protect when I should have to...

Months passed by since those days in Bordeaux and as if Kornos' last words would have foreshadowed the happenings to come, the loss of McLeod's young friend and scholar really felt as if the end of time was close.

In addition the primal and most deeply enrooted fear of humankind started to develop and to blossom again. In some of the weirdest ways thinkable:

The fear of world's end to draw nearer the closer the world got to its latest change of millennia.

The number of self-declared experts sermonizing the downfall of mankind was bigger than ever before and once again it happened, that uncertainty yielded bizarre results while once again it happened that a few were able to stir up the fear of those, who are afraid of everything and who are willing to believe in everything. Even if it included the absurdest, wildest and weirdest theories...

Some things will never change.

This time would not be the first time and it would not be the last time and as always it will make those pay the highest price, who are that much afraid of probably losing their lives that even the vaguest promise of survival will make them pay whatever demanded of them, just to make a fruitless try to escape the unavoidable: Death!

Good times for charlatans and religious zealots!

Maybe, Kronos' was right and mankind would have deserved the return of the Horsemen, but meanwhile I doubt that even a ruthless band like ours would have been able to 'save' humanity from its own stupidity.

No! Not really...

Today, they worshipped other Gods than a band of immortals...

I shook my head, smiling at this thought while I followed the narrow lane through the woods, which would lead me closer to the aim I wanted to reach.

* * *

Excavations and ruins!

The once buzzing trading spot, embedded in picturesque landscapes, surrounded and sheltered by high mountains and narrow glens and settled close to the meeting of two mountain rivers, fell victim to the turns and the tides of time and today's only remains of the once beautiful and flourishing Roman junction are excavations and ruins, partly restored to attract visitors and guests interested in history and archaeology...

Two thousand years ago, when the Romans still used to rule the biggest part of the known world and when I first came to pay a visit to them, these ruins were filled with life and laughter. Ancient woods, fertile fields and fruitful soil provided its inhabitants with a not even small amount of wealth and its well chosen location made it a place worth to retire to.

A place, to forget about everything one could ever feel troubled by...

Letting out a sigh, I turned my back on the ruins and followed a small and stony path uphill until I reached a more than just familiar place.

An aesthetically built Roman villa once nestled up to the mellow hillside, shielded from curious eyes by old and knaggy trees while its wells and fountains, fed by a spring of fresh and clear water, granted its owner full autonomy from the buzzing town down the plains.

The well chosen place held a wide view around the scenery, including the valley, the settlements and its amazing surroundings and it was beautiful.

It was beautiful, it still is, and it once belonged to an amazing man, an old friend of mine! One of those few, I would name a true friend!

He was a cynic, he was a satirist, and he was an aesthete and as the place belonged to him, so also did the impressive villa – centuries before the ancestors of those got born, who were now digging for its relics...

In a different time – two thousand years ago...

I had a look around, tried to find answers to a thousand questions:

What was it, leading me back to this place?

Right now?

After not having thought of it for a rather long time?

'I am the end of time'...

'The end of the world is close'...

Both sounded nothing but strange to me...

What meaning could it have to someone, to whom time itself has no meaning?

What meaning could it have to someone, who does not count in years or decades, but in centuries and millennia?

What meaning could it have to someone, whose memories are dated back that far from today, that their beginning is nothing to him, but a blurred image reflected by a blind mirror?

What meaning could it have to someone, who once was known as to be the end of the world himself?

'None!' I heard the calm and slightly amused voice of my old friend respond to my unsaid questions.

Unless...

Well, unless the old prophecies about the end of the world would come true. Then, without any doubt, the end of the world would affect him as well, because, in this case, the end of the world would also mean the end of the 'Game'...

The 'Game'...

An extraordinarily strange and admittedly inoffensive paraphrase of the one and only fact, that apparently grown ups – immortals, living unrecognised amongst their mortal fellows – are constantly on a hunt for each other, for only one reason:

To fight each other till death with archaic weapons in godforsaken lonely places until one of them takes the other's head.

Sounds weird, doesn't it?

To me it does...

The 'Game'...

To me, it has nothing to do with common sense, honour or reaching a vaguely promised prize offered as a reward for the last man standing.

To me, it's rather a morbid alteration of a perpetual massacre, warranted by its rules settled somewhere back in ancient times, following just one single aim: In the end, after centuries of slaughter, there will be one, only one survivor – for the collective good, for the good of the world, perhaps even for the good of the universe...

So it says, so it's conveyed, so are its rules.

I'm part of this world. I'm part of the 'Game'. I'm part of its rules. For more than five thousand years...

But does this mean, I have to believe in it and its rules?

Because, I'm forced to take part in this 'Game'?

Because, I love this world I live in – including all its beauty and even its blemishes?

Because, I'm immortal?

I saw things, I experienced things, far beyond the imagination of every mortal I ever came across.

I decided to write down what I experienced ever since the days when writing got invented...

I committed deeds – deeds beyond words, deeds, I won't ever get forgiveness for, no matter how long my life will last...

And one day, perhaps, one of my opponents might be able to outsmart me...

* * *

I let out another sigh.

To be honest, I'm tired!

Tired of the 'Game'!

I'm tired of killing and of chopping heads, because both ruled my life – and the lives of so many others – for much too long.

I'm tired of losing friends to ruthless participants of the 'Game' and I'm tired of avenging said friends.

I'm also tired of hiding, even though I don't regret avoiding fights whenever I'm able to do so...

However, whoever will be the winner of the 'Game', one thing I won't deny:

Neither do I own the ambition nor do I own the fire to become the one to hold the world's fate in his hands.

To me it would do to remain the one I am, but as hard as I may try, I can't withdraw from the 'Game' forever. I'm bound to it as much as we all are and I'm bound to it like I'm bound to my memories: There is no escape.

To count in centuries or even in millennia, means to carry tons of memories, and sometimes, they tend to catch up with you, the good as well as the bad.

And so there are the memories of Cassandra, who's still unable to forget or to forgive...

And so there are the memories of Kronos, who was unwilling to accept, that I changed into the one I am today...

Both never had or won't ever have the slightest idea, how coming across them changed my life.

Twice!

Our second encounter convinced me, that I want to be the one I am – with all my flaws and merits. I'm neither black nor white, I consist of shades and if I'd not have kept my ancient self safe inside of me, I would never have survived that long, but it was our first encounter, which left me, in its aftermath, with just one wish: to become more than what I've once been...

Did I succeed?

I think so...

My name is Methos and my story begins within a time, back in history, when a life had no meaning to the man able to take it, when a sword decided if a man would live or die and when only a few ever came to know my real name...


	2. Death on a Horse

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 1: Death on a Horse**

* * *

 _Duncan: "You could have killed him. Why didn't you?"  
Methos: "I wanted to. But we were brothers. In arms, in blood, in everything except birth, and if I judged him worthy to die then I judged myself the same way. And I wanted to live. I still do."_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Revelations 6:8')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 2000 B. C.**

* * *

There was a time, back in the early days of ancient civilization, where people asked themselves, if Death might have a face and if he would have one how it would be supposed to look like.

This was an easy question and much easier it was, to answer it, because Death, in these days, not only had a face, but used to answer this question in person.

Death had a face and whoever managed, to cast an eye upon it, would not live long enough to see the sun rise the next morning.

Death had a face and whoever managed to cast an eye upon it, would hesitate for a split second. That split second it would need to defend themselves, that split second, it needed, to wipe them away from mother earth's troubled face, because, what hid itself under a terrifying mask, was neither unsightly or scary nor was it deformed or distorted in any kind known or imaginable.

Inhaling their last breath, his victims would not stare into the empty orbits of a bony skull belonging to an undead warrior sent to drag them with him on the road of perdition, but into the rather handsome and suntanned face of a young man, who used to cover its right side with blue paint when he went out to one of his sanguineous raids and who could easily be taken for one of their fellow tribesmen.

Neither was there hate nor was there cruelty to spot within his soft brown eyes, but his gaze hid a strange and gloomily fire, which turned out to be even more dangerous than the openly displayed bloodthirst of his comrades.

He barely smiled and rarely talked and not even his heartbeat would quicken its pace whenever his blade would strike out to take another life.

Death came over them swiftly, close-lipped and cold-blooded. He would not rejoice over a successful raid, neither would he care about the dead. Rather would he have a slow-paced walk around the smouldering remnants of a raid, accept his share of the prey and vanish into thin air like a shadow in the night.

No one, not even his companions, had ever been able to figure out, what kind of flame it was, keeping his inner fire burning and he would do what ever necessary to keep it that way.

While his brothers would gather around the fire in the aftermath of a raid, while they would drink and share and compare the amount of killings they achieved during their foray, he would prefer to keep aloof from them, surrendering to his thoughts and relishing the moment of aloneness without feeling lonely.

While watching his brothers celebrate, his fine carved lips would wear the slight hint of a derisive smile, but he still wouldn't talk much, almost as if he wanted to keep his true intentions hidden from supposed enemies as well as from his closest friends.

Never would he give away his thoughts, not even in front of his brothers...

Later, when the heat of the fireplace would dispel the cold of the night, he would take off the hood of his cape and his untamed black hair would run down his back in thick strands, cover his shoulders and frame his youthful and innocent looking face.

Oh yes, Death had a face back in the days of ancient civilization: My face...

And usually I was not alone...

* * *

The Horsemen – that was the name, my brothers and I went by for more than a thousand years and wherever we showed up, spreading fear, dread and fright and being determined to raid, pillage and plunder for nothing but our personal pleasure, everyone along the wide spread landscapes on two continents ran scared as soon as they caught first sight of us.

The Horsemen – that was the name engraved to the minds of every man, woman or child, who ever came to hear it, the name that kept them awake at night and worried by day. It was the name they feared to utter aloud, being afraid to lure us to their villages if they'd dare to and it was the name that sneaked into their dreams to even haunt them in the wee hours of the night.

It would be a lie, if I would claim, sensing the fear of all those people and witnessing the horror mirrored within their eyes, did not cause me a certain feeling of satisfaction.

To know, I would be the last thing they would see before they'd die, to know whether they would live or die would solely depend on my wish to either let them live or have them die, to know, I'd hold the most valuable thing they'd ever own within my hands, their lives – it all meant to know how it feels to hold true power without having to fear resistance. Even more so, because I knew, no one would be able to seriously harm me as long as I would be able to keep my head...

At the beginning of my second life, after just having turned immortal, I didn't know much about immortality itself, about the meaning of the 'Game' or about how it would affect my life in the years to come, but I owned an instinctive sense about what the feeling was about, when I came across others of my kind. The true secret, though, of what happened to me, when I took one of my opponents' heads, the secret of the quickening, still remained hidden from me. I simply let it happen without questioning it and this shouldn't get a change until I crossed paths with another, a slightly different immortal. One, who was the complete opposite to me, one, who would slowly turn Methos into Death...

* * *

At the point of time, where I first met Kronos, I had already lived a remarkably long life, but whatever might have happened to me up to that day, its impact never hit me, the son of an ordinary family of Bedouines, hard enough to change me that much that I would ever have spent a single thought on spilling the blood of innocent.

Kronos, on the other hand, had just learned about his immortality quite recently, whereat 'quite recently' here had the meaning of 'as measured by the span of life having passed by since I returned to life' and before we crossed paths, he was supposed of having rambled to and fro the whole known world – aimlessly and randomly. Somewhen during his travels he must have come across some other immortals known as Caspian and Silas, and never ever since, they would tread separated paths.

They already used to plunder, pillage and kill whether it was necessary or not but even though cruel and relentless from the very beginning those attacks out of the blue were still aimless raids to just satisfy their lust for bloodshed.

However, Kronos quickly turned out to be a born leader by nature and he owned everything a born leader needed: He was charismatic, persuasive and ruthless, seductive and clever and he was down-and-dirty to the core – but one thing he was not: a strategist able to plan his raids with caution and vision...

Kronos never asked for permission, he simply took whatever he lusted for, be it a girl, food or any other kind of prey. Whatever he deemed worthy, it was his to take. He did not suffer contradiction and whoever hoped for clemency with him, came to know soon, that he might have never heard this word before.

Therefore, it did cost me some effort to convince him, that it would definitely be a big mistake to take my head all too rashly and that early.

I had always been known to be clever and able to talk myself out of the worst kind of calamities and as it seemed what I had to offer obviously quickened Kronos curiosity and flattered his vanity. As he was no fool, Kronos knew that, contrary to himself and his two companions, I owned something none of them did: The slyness and the witty mind to do the right thing at the right point of time whenever necessary.

I have to admit, that this, an almost unmistakably farsightedness, a certain talent for how to deal with words and the fine sense of knowing, when to draw the necessary conclusions, definitely saved my head way more often, than my skills with the sword, and that this altogether helped to establish my good reputation of being a well skilled and reliable strategist.

Keeping this in mind, I finally convinced Kronos of being of better use for him if kept alive – and as soon as he agreed to take me in, he could be dead certain about my loyalty against him.

From that day on and till the end of time he'd now own me.

If I would have dared to fight against him, I would have lost my head and so it happened that due to my unbending wish to stay alive the plundering, pillaging and killing trio became a quartet.

Deadly and remorseless...

* * *

With Kronos as our leader and with me quickly turning into his undoubted right hand, Silas and Caspian where all pleased with being allowed to do what they did best.

Silas and Caspian...

As much as they had in common as much their characters were to differ:

Caspian was a strong warrior, who was abnormally skilled if it came to slaughter. He owned a distinct addiction to sadism and used to strike before asking questions – if he did at all. He was also the one, I never really trusted as long as this alliance lasted. To my surprise, he never questioned my strategies and plans even though he must have been very well aware about my trust issues if it came to him.

Silas was a giant, provided with the body of a warrior and the brain of a child. He was the same deadly and naive. Nowadays, they'd name him mentally ill (same as Caspian, by the way), back in the days of old, he often got taken for a simpleton – that long until his axe started talking in his place. If it came to killing human beings, Silas knew no scruples, but to my honest surprise, he turned into the most gentle person ever to imagine if it came to deal with animals. His enormous hands, able to smash a man's head without any effort, were able to pick up the most fragile little bird without damaging its tiniest bones or feathers. He was the one of my brothers I trusted the most and I knew, this feeling was mutual.

For the years, for the decades, for the centuries to come, those men became my brothers in everything but birth. Whatever we carried together during our raids, we shared in equal share and whatever kind of scruples I might have had in the beginning, I either lost them somewhen, while causing bloodshed or they holed up somewhere deep inside my innermost, where they could hide from me and what I had become.

At that time, I never had a doubt with what I did and with what I had become.

Not yet...


	3. Cassandra: You Live to Serve Me

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 2: Cassandra - Part 1: You Live to Serve Me**

* * *

 _Methos (to Cassandra): "I am Methos. You live to serve me. You live, because I wish it. And you stay alive as long as you please me."_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Comes a Horseman')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 2000 B. C.**

* * *

A handful of tents, shabby, tattered and visibly affected by hot desert days, cold desert nights and sand and dust constantly swirled up by a slight but steady breeze – that was the first our view caught as soon as we reached the ridge of the dune where we reined our horses.

A small camp, barely able to host more than three dozen people and their belongings, goats and sheep included. Nomad stock breeders, used to roam the desert to feed themselves and to feed their flock, frugal and unobtrusive.

They were ordinary herdsmen, peace-loving and poor. No warriors to be expected here, but as it seemed, there lived a shaman amongst them. The magical talismans, made to adorn his tent and to protect his people, were not to overlook.

We were on our way back from a raid and we would probably have spared this place which had nothing to offer but some pieces of cattle and a good amount of goat dung, but when we stumbled upon those well hidden tents behind the dunes, each of us sensed that slight shift of energy we got wrapped in.

It was a strange but oddly familiar feeling, telling us (as I would come to learn many years later), that these nomads sheltered an immortal who hadn't suffered his first death yet.

It didn't cost Kronos much effort to convince us that this unimposing camp was worth getting paid a visit. It would serve as an easily won prize on our way back to our own camp.

While Silas and Caspian would go on with their rivalry about who of them would end up with the bigger amount of killings, my own bloodthirstiness got overlain by some barely restrained curiosity and to my honest surprise I sensed the same with Kronos: He was hell-bent on finding out who the immortal was, who got fed and raised by those nomads.

* * *

The man, who owned the courage to step in our way, knew who we were, he knew what we were, and even though he wasn't one of us, he must have felt instinctively that one of the nomads he lived with was.

„Hold on!"

His voice was calm and despite the ongoing slaughter around him his gaze never let go of Kronos. Concern got mirrored within his eyes but not so much about his own fate but rather about the fate of his people. He himself wasn't afraid of death, but he tried what lay in his powers to strike a bargain for those he felt responsible for: „I tell you to leave! Whatever it is you expect to find here, we have nothing of value to offer to you. We have nothing you could be interested in!"

Nothing of what he just had heard held anything Kronos would have felt impressed by. He chuckled and a broad but humourless grin appeared when he took off his mask. Slightly amused about another of those poor and pointless tries to negotiate with him, he bend down on the man to behold him out of adamant eyes.

„Is that so?"

Kronos' words, deadly like a sharpened blade but more a hiss than uttered brawly, sounded all around the camp and his grin got broader as he added: „Well, no reason there, then, to keep you all alive!"

One of the women grabbed the shaman's arm and clung to him, while her desperate gaze begged him not to answer back, but he covered her hands with one of his and beheld her in a way only a father or foster father would behold his child.

His caring gaze and their short and soundless dialogue seemed to upset her and her eyes widened in a sudden awareness when he turned round to confront Kronos again.

„No!"

The girl shook her head in a mix of defiance and desperation and it took her only a split second to gather all her courage to disobey him when she pushed past the man who obviously raised her. Her steps might have been hesitant when she slowly approached Kronos, but her gaze caught his and held it. If she was afraid she managed very well to hide it.

„No", she addressed him once again: „You can't do this! You must not do this!"

"You err", was all, he replied: „I can and I will do this", then, within a blink of an eye, he drew his sword and stabbed the girl.

She did not scream.

She did not cry.

Only a gasp out of utter surprise escaped her lips before she collapsed.

The same moment, we all knew, what was going on.

If first I thought, the shaman must be the immortal, I now got the answer to my unsaid question:

The girl was the immortal and as soon as she would return to life, she would find out that her world got turned upside down. The camp, her people and the life she used to live...everything would have been gone forever.

She would be the only one to survive this day...

When we prepared to leave about an hour later, there was no sign left, that there once had been a camp.

Fire and flames told their own story, but there was no one left to listen...

* * *

Whatever led me to do so, I did not join my brothers in their search for values and non-existing treasures. While they went to finish their bloody business, I decided that this still unconscious girl would be today's only prey for me

It was near sunset when we returned to our camp and other than usual the four of us quickly headed each for his own tent. I jumped off my horse and dropped the rolled up carpet to the ground. Some restrained movement told me that my precious immortal treasure must have returned to life, meanwhile, and I felt both excitement and arousal quickening my heartbeat.

The girl panted for air when I rolled her out of the carpet and she shielded her eyes against the sinking sun to accustom her eyes to the dying daylight.

Confusion, astonishment and disbelief got shown upon her face and mirrored within her eyes, while she had a look around the camp, slowly realizing that this was not the place where she did wake up in the morning.

"Where am I?" She frowned when she got aware of me and she eyed me filled with distrust when I let go the hood of my cape and when I took off the mask. Her eyes narrowed as she asked: „And who are you?"

"Surprise", I replied, while she still stared at me, obviously wondering about the fact that she wasn't facing a monster, but a young man of her age. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she kept silent and I added: „You're not dead."

I reached out my hand to help her up and once again, hesitantly grabbing it, she gathered all her courage to ask me: „Where are they? My people? Take me to them!"

I'm sure, she already knew the truth, but for what reason ever she still had hope left.

Hope!

A delusive feeling the same powerful and fragile and easily to shatter when certainty lays hold on you with icy claws...

"You want to see them", I made a guess: „There they are!"

Her gaze followed the direction I pointed at...

She turned pale...

The light within her eyes ceased...

To see this last spark of hope and confidence die was hard to bear, even for me, but I had seen it before within so many other pairs of eyes that I wasn't able any more to feel compassion.

Untouched by her pain and desperation I showed her Caspian's latest additions to his morbid collection of trophies and keepsakes – the skulls and bones of her people – unveiled and exposed at the entrance of his tent.

„Caspian uses to keep the heads", I taunted: „He thinks it makes him smarter." I shrugged and added: „So far, it didn't work..."

I expected her to cry, to scream, to faint, but not, that her pain would turn into profound hatred within just a split second. She lunged at me, absolutely willing to pay me back, what I did to her and to her people and regardless of what I could be up to next.

It took me some effort to get hold of her again, but after a while she gave up resistance and whispered in a soundless voice: „So it's true then? You killed them? All of them?"

I released her out of the firm grip I held her with and answered: „Including you?"

She shook her head in disbelief, staring at her dress and the cut Kronos' sword had left behind: „The wound! It's gone! How is this possible?"

"Let's say, your kind is hard to kill. As time passes by, you'll understand. Until it is as far as, you'll belong to me..."

I smiled and reached out to touch her cheek, but she pushed my hand aside and hissed: "Never!" Then, she tried to attack me once again.

I slapped her hard and she collapsed to the ground.

„Listen to me carefully", I told her: „I am Methos and you live because I wish it. You live to serve me and you stay alive as long as you please me. This did not please me!"

There was still no hint of tears welling up or of her being willing to beg for mercy when her gaze met mine. The only thing I was able to spot within her eyes, was a spark of loathing and disgust – and I felt challenged.

I knelt down by her side, unexpectedly attracted by her resistance and her fighting back. Her mind and will were strong and even though we might have taken anything away from her, her life included, we haven't been able to rob her of her pride.

No, she was not weak, and I was sure, if she'd have know already how to kill me, she'd not have hesitated.

I beheld her for a while and I found her neither unsightly nor dimwitted. Long dark strands of hair enwrapped her narrow, suntanned face. Her dark and vivid eyes were full of life and passion. Her reddened lips were slightly parted and a single invitation to taste them and her tattered dress of rough linen barely hid her female attractions. And still, what fascinated me the most, was, her deep and natural passion, hidden under grief and hatred but still to sense and able to set a man on fire.

To behold her, to stay that close with her, to feel her struggle under my grip – each on its own and all together lightened my desire and I longed to taste the prize, I won today, right here on the spot.

To feel that soft and gentle skin of hers under the touch of my fingertips promised an extraordinarily delightful pleasure, but I wasn't even able to think about giving in to my desire.

Silas and Caspian started fighting again, over sharing the prey, and just when I promised Caspian, that I would kill him, if I'd have to, Kronos reminded us, that we'd agreed to share in equal share...

Always and everything...


	4. Cassandra: From Survivor to Healer

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 3: Cassandra - Part 2: From Survivor to Healer**

* * *

 _Cassandra: "You killed them? All of Them?"_

 _Methos: „Including You!"_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Comes a Horseman')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 2000 B. C.**

* * *

"You don't have to walk!" I had my horse slacken its pace that I'd fall behind, but the one I addressed this way treated me with utterly disinterest.

"Why would you prefer to walk if offered a ride", I made another try, but when I brought my horse closer to her side, Cassandra just raised her head, shot me a glare telling me to leave her alone and went on walking.

"It's not that I want to wrap you up in a carpet again!" I told her, ignoring her looking daggers at me: "You know, this trek will last somewhat longer than just one or two days and even if you're good at walking, I dare to make a guess, that this won't be a pleasure at all! Not even for you! So, what do you say?"

I offered her my hand and added: "Sitting on horseback, you can still think about how to kill me or about how to escape. You might find it even easier if you don't have to watch your steps."

Again, Cassandra eyed me carefully, then, after mumbling something which sounded pretty much like a curse or anything comparable, she finally grabbed my hand and let it happen, that I dragged her up the back of my horse so that she came to sit behind me.

* * *

Months did pass by since I decided to take her in to serve me and ever since Cassandra made as many tries to escape as she made tries to kill me out of an ambush or when she took me for having been fast asleep.

Sometimes, I granted her a little lead before I went after her to track her down or before I brought her back to our camp, but with time passing by something similar to a truce began to prevail over us and our constant play of hide and seek and the less we fought and struggled, the more comfortable I felt.

Life was good, we used to remain on our own and no one bothered us or dared to ask, what was going on between us.

Not even Kronos.

He, Silas and Caspian had enough women to cause them pleasure and so none of them seemed to be overly interested in the fact, that I felt completely satisfied to spend as much time alone with my pretty immortal slave as our life between raids and changing quarters granted me.

Cassandra, for her part, might have stopped making tries to kill me or to escape us, but she never let me in on her thoughts, if she trusted me or if she already had forgiven me. I first came to know her true feelings and deepest thoughts when we met again several lifetimes later.

At the time being, at the time where she still lived to serve me, she, same like me seemed to enjoy the rare conversations we had between her attempts to escape and my attempts to get her back.

* * *

"Admit it, you would love to throw me off the horse and to leave me to die right here on the spot. Am I right?" This time I was teasing her.

"I'm tired of trying", I heard her answer from behind.

"Sounds, as if you feel sorry for not having succeeded."

"Should I not", she hissed.

"Still that unforgiving?" My words sounded much more stern, than I actually intended them to.

"Wouldn't you be that unforgiving as well, if someone would have killed everything you once loved or if someone would have destroyed everything having had a meaning to you? I'm sure, you wouldn't rest until the day when the last of those murderers would kneel in front of you begging for mercy..."

"Maybe..." I replied in a soundless voice.

Cassandra never got to know about how much her words struck a chord with me. They echoed through my head and body until an almost forgotten pain started to overwhelm my heart. I knew better than she'd ever dare to guess, how it felt to endure what she had to endure after everything we put her through.

Maybe better, than I wanted to admit to myself.

Oh yes, I knew, how it felt to lose everything, including love. I went through a similar experience myself. Many years ago.

When I had to watch-on helplessly how the Egyptian mercenaries the Pharaoh had sent after us slaughtered the Bedouins I lived with, when a blood smeared blade first hit me and then the one I loved and when I begged them on my knees to spare her from death.

I still could hear them laugh when they killed her anyhow...

* * *

I kept silent for a while, tried to get rid of the pain, those long suppressed memories caused me, when Cassandra asked me: "Why you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you take me in? Why didn't you leave me to one of your companions?"

"A rhetorical question?"

"Just a question..."

I had a quick thought about it and decided, that an honest answer would definitely not match what she possibly wanted to hear from me:

Keeping a pretty slave by my side during cold desert nights was always a pleasurable thing to enjoy and to take her before one of my brothers would, wasn't all too bad either...

"Let's change the issue." I cleared my throat and asked instead of answering her question: "Rumour says, you are a healer. Is it true?"

"Why would you be interested in it?"

"Why would I not?"

"What meaning could healing people have to you? I always thought, it causes you way more pleasure to kill them..."

"It does, but I already know how to do that. What, if I would like to learn something new?"

"To heal?"

For the first time, since I decided to make her my slave, something like amusement resounded within both, her voice and her words. I supposed that even a smile might have sneaked upon her lips.

"Why not!" I shrugged.

"You're Death!"

"Not always! You know that!" I paused, then added in a more gentle tone: "You know I'm Methos now..."

I didn't get a reply and, strangely enough, I hesitated before I asked her another question: "You hate me, am I right?"

"It's not that easy", Cassandra answered in a low voice.

"Why not? We burnt down your village, we killed your people, we even killed you. You ended up to be my slave in every meaning of the word. I would hate me, if I were in your place. Seems not to be that complicated. Why do you think it is?"

She took a deep breath, before she tried to explain: "You are right! You and those bastards over there destroyed everything I once loved: My people, my life. Everything! You forced yourself upon me again and again. So, yes, therefore I should hate you and I do. I hate what you did to me and to my people, I hate, what you do to others and I hate, what you are..."

"See! It isn't that complicated at all. You hate me, because of what I am..."

"I hate Death!" Cassandra interrupted me.

"Death?"

"Yes!"

"Not Methos, then?"

"No!"

"But you know..."

"I hate, what you are, what you become as soon as you're going to hide your face behind this terrible mask. You're not the same then. It's not..."

"Me?"

She kept silent behind me and her words left me slightly puzzled.

What was it, she wanted to tell me?

That there was a difference between Death and Methos?

That without the mask, I was different?

I let out a soundless sigh and asked: "If Methos would be the one to ask you about how to heal...what would your answer be?"

She hesitated for a while, then replied: "If I teach you how to heal, will you explain to me why I can't die?"

"If what I can tell you about it will be enough for you to understand..."

The only answer I got, afterwards, was the gentle feeling of a pair of tender arms getting wrapped around my waist and a cheek getting nestled up against my shoulder...


	5. Cassandra: One of a Thousand Regrets

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 4: Cassandra - Part 3: One of a Thousand Regrets**

* * *

 _Methos (to McLeod): „Why do you think I didn't tell you? I knew how you'd react. What I've done, you can't forgive, it's not in your nature. "_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Revelation 6:8')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 2000 B. C.**

* * *

Time had no meaning to us and so it was hard to tell, if weeks, months or even years passed by since we had our little conversation on horseback.

What was not hard to tell, though, was that ever since we had said little conversation on horseback, Cassandra and I shared kind of a silent agreement:

On the one hand, she neither made another try to escape nor did she make another try to kill me, while on the other hand, I started to remember that treating a woman nicely and with kindness always served me way better than scaring her to death each time I desired to spend the night together with her.

In addition, it felt much more satisfying to hear her sigh my name in pure pleasure, while sending her over the edge, than looking into her terrified eyes whenever I'd have her share my bed or watching her curl up in pain whenever I'd let go of her thereafter.

The truth is: Slowly, but constantly, I began to feel more comfortable in Cassandra's company than I felt within my brothers'.

According to her promise, she started to teach me about healing – about sickness and ill health and about how to cure them, about herbs and plants and about where to find them, about their effects and their dangers and about how to use and how to handle them right.

I used to take her to the right spots that she could search for the ingredients she needed for her medicine, while I told her what I knew about our strange condition.

Maybe I should have also let her in on the secret about how to kill an immortal, but I decided not to trust her that far.

If there was one thing I already valued higher than anything else in life, it was my life and attached to it my head. I was hell-bent on keeping it...

* * *

Be it as it may, these days we spent together, apart from raids, bloodshed and death, were the days which made me miss something of what, at this point of time, I wasn't quite aware what it was. I knew it to be there, but I wasn't able to name it. It felt like a distant longing hidden somewhere deep inside me and it felt so far away and out of reach, that I pushed every thought about it aside as soon as it tried to reach my troubled surface. But as much as I tried to ignore it, said longing was there and the more often I felt it, the more intimate the familiarity got, Cassandra and I shared.

It was then when I started to bring gifts along for her whenever I returned from one of our forays: Dresses, jewels, attire and other little values telling her that I appreciated her company. She could have dismissed all those little regards I presented her with, but to my surprise, she dressed up for me as if she'd wait for her lover and not for the one who once took her by force. She even took care of my well-being and ever since I never ran out of fresh water, spiced wine or sweet fruit while the fine scent of roses, jasmine or violet greeted me whenever I returned to her after having spent several days away from her hunting for another prey.

Back then, I wasn't aware of it, but I started to change. More and more often I would leave sharing the captured values to my brothers while I headed straight for my quarters and more and more often I would avoid them when they gathered round the fire at night. Kronos kept silent about it, but the way he used to watch me whenever I took my leave without giving him a reason made me realize his growing mistrust against me.

Kronos needed me as the one to plan his raids, but while he could always be sure about Silas and Caspian and their unconditioned loyalty, he never forgot the reason that made me join him: The wish to stay alive.

This, never changed and I, for my part, never trusted him, but the truth is that I feared him and, unfortunately, he knew I did.

Kronos noticed that I began to change and I was stupid enough to think, he'd not.

* * *

"You can take my share!"

I jumped off my horse when we returned to camp, tired and exhausted and driven by only one wish that was getting out of my clothes and boots and out of Kronos' sight.

"You're in a hurry?"

Kronos' sharp voice tore me out of my thoughts and made me turn round just before I reached my tent. Something lurking was to spot within his eyes, but I did not get aware of it until it was too late - as I would find out later.

"I just want to get out of the saddle", I replied slowly and worn out.

The least I needed at this moment was a bad tempered and distrustful Kronos asking questions. He was both: "Is that so? Then, it has nothing to do with the fact, that you are supposed to be expected? No?"

"What do you want to tell me?"

"Nothing! Just, that you seem to prefer other company over your brothers', right...?"

Following his gaze with mine, I noticed who it was having caught his attention: Dressed up all in white, a narrow golden belt wrapped around her waist and a golden bracelet gracing her wrist, it was Cassandra who just had left my tent the moment we arrived. She seemed to glow from inside and the sunlight got mirrored within her bright and shimmering eyes...

The way Kronos beheld her did not please me.

"I'm tired, that's all!"

I felt his gaze following me when I turned on my heels to leave him and I was convinced, that all those strains between us would soon unload. To think about it scared me, but I felt determined not to shy away from it again. Not this time. At least, that was, what I thought...

* * *

Cassandra welcomed me with a smile. She handed me a goblet of spiced wine and helped me to get rid of my armour. I took a draft, while she was busy and beheld her form over the edge of the goblet: No, I'd definitely not leave her alone to spend this night together with my comrades arguing over valueless stuff...

"Tired", she asked.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and replied presenting her with a hint of a smile when I opened them again: "Tired!"

"It was a long ride then?"

"It was."

I took another draft of wine, but even if it got spiced and cooled, it did not want to taste.

My thoughts went everywhere just not where they should have been and thinking of it now, many lifetimes later, this was the moment where I should have given in to my recurring longing and the wish, I already kept hidden deep inside of me for a rather long time: the wish to leave all of this behind.

Of course, I relished to stay free and unchallenged without owing anything to anyone and to be always free to do whatever I wanted to...

But, was it really that way?

Was I really free?

With every sunset I doubted it a bit more.

A gentle touch dragged me back to the here and now.

It was Cassandra.

She sat by my side, a bowl of fresh water on her knees and a soft piece of cloth within her hand, and started to wash away the sweat from my face and the dust from my hands.

"You are troubled. Something wrong", she asked, concern within her voice and eyes, but I only shook my head.

"It's nothing you could change", I said: "Just go on...no worries..."

I closed my eyes and surrendered to her warm and gentle touch. It was everything, I longed for within this moment: her closeness and her tenderness.

When I opened my eyes again, her gaze met mine, and I knew I desired her. Not as my prisoner, not as my slave! Solely, as the woman, she was, waiting for me, dressing up for me, sighing my name...

My hand reached out and my fingers slipped over her lips and cheek She let it happen and she did not shy away when I buried my hand within her hair. All she did was watching me out of her soft brown eyes like she never did before, and within this moment, I knew, there was more within our world but to raid, to plunder and to pillage.

I was not meant to taste her lips that night and I was not meant to tell her, what I should have told her long before...

"Well, brother, I've to admit, I underestimated you!" It was Kronos and his words dripped from scorn. He stood in the entrance of my tent and I had not the slightest idea, how long he might have before. I exchanged a look with Cassandra when Kronos added: "So, you really succeeded with taming this little wild cat!? I never thought, you would, after all her tries to kill you."

The cold within his voice did not even match the scorn of his words.

"What do you mean?" I tried to act the fool: "I don't know..."

"No need to lie to me, brother! I know, you do! But maybe it's something different. A reason why you want to try to make a fool of me." Kronos grinned. He took one of the peaches out of the bowl in front of him and went on: "There's gossip all around, you know, and this gossip says, that life is sweet within Methos' tent. The sweetest fruits, spiced wine, lovely flowers..."

"Who spreads this?" I got up and made a try to get Cassandra out of his sight.

"Rumour, brother. A little rumour here, a little rumour there." The scorn suddenly changed into an icy cold without any warning: "Don't fool me, Methos! Don't tell me, it's not true or that she's not keeping the fruit and the wine for you! Only for you!"

"She keeps nothing for me! There is nothing special in here at all..."

"True? Well, it's obvious, that she prefers your company and that you use to favour her! Strange, brother, isn't it? There are so many others around here." He shot me a glare and added: "So, tell me, brother, why is this? Why do you favour her? Because you have a special interest in her? Yes?"

"No!"

I felt Cassandra staring at my back.

I felt, how she froze to the spot.

I felt the panic, welling up within her – and in front of me, I saw Kronos' contented grin.

This couldn't be real. The sweet moment was gone and so was everything we had.

I betrayed her, because I was what? A coward?

I heard Kronos' next words like uttered through a thick veil of pain, remorse and dying love: "Good! Then it's time to share the prey!"

He pushed me aside, grabbed Cassandra with her wrist and dragged her with him despite her protest and her fear.

And I? I did not move. I did not answer. I just let it happen...

"Methos! Please! Don't let this happen! Methos!"

Cassandra cried out for me but I just let this moment pass by like many others before.

Without knowing, when I took it, I suddenly felt one of the peaches in my hand. It felt so soft and gentle like her skin, but neither was it as warm as her skin nor was it able to cause me the same pleasure.

Kronos knew, I would not dare to step in his way, if he would ever come to claim her for himself, he knew, I would not dare to take the risk of loosing my head, if I would challenge him and, of course, he knew, that humiliating her, also meant, humiliating me...

I did not know it, yet, but soon I would lose much more, than this...

* * *

Somewhen in the middle of the night, loud screaming woke me up from out of a fitful doze. No one needed to tell me, what happened, I just knew it.

Cassandra had stabbed Kronos, after he had pushed her back to hell and for one last moment, I kept the hope, she might return to me, but my hope betrayed me, like I betrayed her...

When I saw her stumbling out of Kronos' tent, running away from our camp and straight towards the desert, I knew, she'd never forgive me and she would either hate me or condemn me...

I know now, she did both, but she was free...and I was not...


	6. The Turning of the Tide

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 5: The Turning of the Tide**

* * *

 _Methos: "Would I lie to you?"_

 _Kronos: "Have you ever done anything else?"_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Revelation 6:8')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 1700 B. C.**

* * *

I failed to keep tabs on how long I remained seated somewhere midst the sandy hills, right under the clear blue sky, with the sun burning down on me and with the loose sand slowly trickling past me. I would not have been surprised if it would have been for hours; hours that felt like an eternity.

No one cared when I turned my back on the scenery and no one asked why I turned my back on the scenery, all I knew was, I had to turn my back on the scenery.

Most likely it was, that neither Kronos, nor Silas or Caspian actually noticed, when I took my leave from killing, raid and pillage that day.

Most likely it was, that all three were still busy with what all of them always did best:

The erasure of life...

* * *

I don't want to declare untrue that I also had my part in playing this game of death, bloodshed and murder, but when I came to recognise the place and when I realised that this was not the first time it would drown in blood, I had to take flight from my brothers, from the killing and from myself.

Yes, I knew this enchanted place and, yes, it was not the first time it would drown in blood.

There was only one difference between today and the days gone by:

When first I became witness of slaughter and senseless murder amongst palm-trees and papyrus plants, my people had been the ones, who died here under blade and arrow...

It was in this place, where once I did lose everything having had a meaning to me.

It was in this place, where the Egyptian mercenaries sought us out – me, the nomads who once admitted me when I wandered about the desert, all lost and desperate, and her, the one I loved.

It was in this place, where I had to witness my love die – helpless, dying myself, but doomed to return to life and doomed to find her lying in a pool of blood with her broken eyes still wet from tears...

Memories of her washed over me.

They came in painful waves, unheralded and unexpected, and crushed down on me with such an impact that it became hard to breathe. I tried to reach out for them, heard that silent scream deep inside me begging them to stay, but they already started to blur no matter how desperate my try to cling to them.

I didn't stand a chance:

Tried not to well up, I had to let go of my memories for now, but the pain they caused me while they slowly disappeared, still remained.

It paved itself a way straight into my heart and forced me to look into the mirror, it held up in front of me. It scared me to look at it but even with my eyes closed I knew, what I would come to see. I had become myself, what I once loathed profoundly to the core:

Death!

Death on a horse!

The caravan, we assaulted today, all those lifeless bodies, whose blood soaked both the sand and the ground of this oasis – it was not the gory deed of a hired band of bloodthirsty Egyptian mercenaries.

Not this time...

This time, I was the one to cause this gory deed together with those three men I used to call my brothers...

'I hate, what you are, what you become, as soon as you're going to hide your face behind this terrible mask. You're not the same then...'

Cassandra's words came to my mind again and again ever since she took flight from Kronos and me. If only I could have told her that I had finally begun to understand.

It was too late to do so and to ask for her forgiveness...

But it wasn't too late to...

* * *

"May I ask, what you are doing up here?"

A shadow fell upon me but even though I wasn't able to recognize his face, because the sun bedazzled me, I'd never fail to recognise his voice:

The threatening undertone and the keen sarcasm resonating with his words, would always make me identify Kronos amongst thousands.

He presented me with a grin and went on: "Tell me, brother, that the only reason for you to leave us amidst the fun and to hole yourself up up here is for appreciating this unique sight."

"What else could be the reason to do so? As you say, it's a sight to behold. A rather rare one too, you agree, don't you?"

I blinked as I looked up to face him and added: „It's up to be remembered for quite a long time, if you ask me to make a guess..."

However morbid it was, I thought, it was without any doubt the unchallenged truth...

"So, you're not here, then, because your conscience got in your way again? No?"

"Try talking about something, you've not the slightest idea about?" I raised my gaze and locked eyes with his: "You don't really want to make me believe, you're aware of the word's meaning?"

"Why burden yourself with something attached to the meaning of weakness?"

He shrugged the thought off and went on: "All I asked myself was: Since when are you supposed to have one? A Conscience..."

"Think it over, if I'd have one, I'd not stay with you any longer..."

"Tell me then, why it feels so hard, to believe this?"

Kronos glared at me frowning before he slowly shook his head and remarked all thoughtfully in his own peculiar way: "You're not still carrying a grudge against me, because I wanted to find out on my own, which virtues your pretty little slave owned?"

„Cassandra?"

„That untamed little wild cat really wound you round her little finger."

„What do you want to tell me?"

„C'mon, Methos, no need to deny it any more. Why else would you have brought gifts along for her? You even left some spirit in her. And as it seems, you're still not over her."

„Are you? If I remember it right, it wasn't me who ended up with a dagger midst my guts."

I knew, Kronos still kept the small blade, Cassandra had stabbed him with: „Strange, isn't it? As many tries as she made to kill me, in the end it was you who took the stab."

„I wonder, what lessons you taught her. You favoured her, she preferred you. You cared about her..."

"Why would you care if I cared about her?"

„You took her in, you let her escape."

„You expected me to go after her? Why? She never meant anything to me!"

"You may be a brilliant strategist, Methos, but you've always been an awfully bad liar. I know, you hated me for taking her away from you. You could have taken my head in exchange after she stabbed me. Why didn't you do it?"

"You know why! I'm your brother and you are mine! Why would I want to take my brother's head?"

Before I was able to inhale another breath, I felt the sharp edge of Kronos' blade near my neck and it was just recollecting my gift of being able to think one step ahead which saved me from a quick and undeserved death: "If you kill me right here on the spot, you will unavoidably kill your own legend by doing so. I'm the one planning your raids, brother. As you said, I'm your strategist. Go ahead! I've no doubt, you will get along with strategy and planning on your own. You could also leave the task to Caspian. I'm sure, he wouldn't fail with pleasing you! So, yes, if you're convinced of not being in need of me any longer – take my head..."

Kronos withdrew the sword from my neck and placed it back to his belt, then asked: „Can I still trust you?"

"As much as you can trust yourself..."

"What makes you think, I'd always spare you from losing your head?"

Having heard those threats countless times since I came to know him, I just smirked about it and replied: "I'm not, but you'd better make sure, you do. Otherwise, your next raids will end up within the same mess as today's. I'd swear any oath you'd want to hear from me on the fact that this never belonged to one of my plans. Tell me, Kronos, when did you allow this bullock without a brain to burn down this place?"

Kronos looked daggers at me, but I went on: „I've no doubt, it was you, who allowed it. Caspian would never act without your permission as long as we ride together..."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with it...?"

"Just, that this oasis is the only one within a wide radius of a couple of days. Every caravan, every nomad tribe, every traveller on this route, has only one choice if they are in need for water and rest. And now, have a guess, what will happen next. The clouds of smoke our dear brother caused, by burning it all down, reach high above the valley and I assure you, they will be visible from many miles afar, means, who else ever planned to rest here, will now use a different route."

"Is this for sure?" Kronos scanned my face for a sign of betrayal – he never found one.

"Sure enough! You let a rich prey slip through your fingers, brother. You missed the opportunity to set up camp. Think of it, Kronos. You could have become a spider in a spider's web. Instead, you chose to make yourself known and your rich prey is slipping through your fingers..."

Kronos turned on his heels and left without granting me another reply and I watched him as he left until he reached the valley.

* * *

I breathed a sigh in relief, glad to remain on my own again, but when I wanted to brush some strands of hair from my brow and out of my eyes, I got aware of the condition my hands were in. They were covered with dirt and dried blood and I knew, the same went for my face.

To know how both got there, made me feel nauseous for the first time in centuries.


	7. Esther: The Source of Life

**The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse**

 **Chapter 6: Esther – Part 1: The Source of Life**

* * *

 _Duncan (about Alexa dying),"You knew it had to be this way."  
_

 _Methos, "Yeah, from the first moment I saw her. Is that supposed to make it easier? Is that supposed to make it O.K? If there is one chance that I can save her, then I have to try."_

 _(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'Methuselah's Gift')_

* * *

 **Bronze Age – ca. 1700 B. C.**

* * *

Was this all?

Was this really all?

Was this really all, the world could give to me or I could give to the world?

Death and subversion?

Blood and tears?

Anguish and fright?

A slight breeze waved over from the oasis, but instead of the refreshing scent of fresh water, flowers in full blossom and humid soil, it carried the sounds and the stench of death.

I wrapped my arms round my knees and lowered my head down on them tried to hide that both made me shiver, but I could neither escape the smell nor could I escape the sounds.

Dense smoke and smoulder raised from the oasis, wrapped it in and choked it under their firm grip until nothing got left of the spot that once had been a place of rest and quietude.

Throughout centuries this oasis had been a sanctuary, a refugium for all those, who had spent days, sometimes weeks crossing the desert, and who longed for nothing else but sleep, shadow and cool and fresh spring water. It was an Arcadian place of unique beauty, peaceful, and of a somehow peculiar magic – if this was the right term to describe it.

Steep rugged rocks shielded the widespread glade northwards and they were also the origin of the two springs feeding the rivulet that streamed the valley. Where the small river reached the heart of the oasis, it swelled and built a pond until it drained away a few miles amidst the desert.

Gently rising hills bordered the glade southwards, creating a natural shield against both, the wind and the sand with their bushes and grasses and the impenetrable brushwoods.

Travellers, who'd wish to enter the valley with its fruitful scrubland, its shady palm-trees and its lush green, would have to use one of the narrow and over caved paths from either the East or the West.

It was a troublesome and straining last part of a long journey, but as soon as those hindrances were overcome, the paradisiac place would outweigh all the trouble and the strain – and every visitor would forget quickly that he'd still find himself amidst the desert, surrounded by nothing more but barren landscapes and caught in an ocean, which waves were built from sand as far as a man's view could reach.

Whoever came to this valley, would come in peace and he would stay here for a while unhurried and unburdened.

Caravans used to come and go, exchanging information, novelties, sometimes goods and supplies, while nomads and Bedouins sought for water, food and shelter for their people and their flocks.

They all shared the oasis and its welcomed comforts and neither were there disputes nor was there skirmish worth getting mentioned.

They all knew, this place meant water and they all knew water meant survival...

* * *

Those were the memories I carried with me and there was no doubt: I knew this enchanted place. It saw some of my happiest moments and it got witness of one of my saddest memories – and as it seemed, I added another sad memory to my long list of memories the moment I took my share in today's raid, pillage and plunder.

The grass, the bushes, even some of the age-old palm-trees burst into flames and thick clouds of dense smoke reached high above the hills, visible many miles from far out of the desert.

This once so peaceful and divine place was no shelter, was no sanctuary any more. Within just one day it had turned into a deadly trap and instead of getting remembered as a flourishing paradisiac garden, it would be known as a forecourt of hell from today on. Hostile to life for years, perhaps ages.

And I did nothing to prevent it, satisfied with myself and my role as Death on a horse...

My eyes were burning and I tried to belie myself by telling me that it was just the smoke, but the truth was another...that, I'd come to find out rather sooner than later.

With a sigh I got up and reached for my sword...

After all, there were four horsemen!

* * *

There was no absolute assuredness about where the water came from the springs of the oasis and its pond got fed with, but it was less than half as difficult to understand, why those who reached this place had anything else in mind but asking elementary questions about its origins after having spent days or weeks on horseback or camel while crossing the desert during long rides.

I didn't care either.

When I stepped into the cave and entered its soothing twilight, all I got driven by was the wish to escape the sunlight, the flames, the stench of death and the laughter of my companions.

The air I got wrapped with was pure and fresh and it cooled down both my heated skin and my troubled mind immediately, while the shadows grew darker and while the chill got more and more intense the nearer I drew to the source. I dropped down on my knees and bent over the edge, my hands ready to scoop some water for to clean my hands and face, but I shied away from the image of me mirrored within the crystal clear liquid of this underground spring.

Blood, sweat and washy blue paint smeared my hair and face and a tired gaze out of reddened eyes stared back at me, strangely blurred when a slight breeze rippled the water surface. I shook my head to get rid of the image and finally started to wash off the dirt and the blood and also the blue paint which made me recognisable as Death and the warrior I was.

I watched how the paint and the blood got carried away by a barely noticeable current and when I dared to stare at my reflection once more, it showed me a different image. I was the young nomad again, who mourned his love and people, long before he got turned into a monster, and I knew, if I wanted to save at least a small part of my former self, I had to find a way to turn my back on Kronos, my brothers and the life I lived and loved for such a long time...

* * *

My lonely thoughts got a rude disruption, when something or someone reached out for me and grabbed my ankle with a firm grip.

"Help me..."

It was just a silent whisper within the half-light, weak and barely audible, but I was still too much a warrior, too used to be wary of loosing my head, too quick on the draw to act in a different way.

Within a split second, I got back on my feet, and within another, I felt how my fingers clasped my sword. I turned round to face this bold offender who obviously lay in ambush within the cave, but then I stopped short...

The stranger was none of my kind, no immortal. I would have sensed him long before, and except of his fingers being still wrapped round my ankle, there moved nothing.

No attack, no movement, no sound...

There was just this shadowy figure, cowering next to my feet.

He was totally dressed in black, his face hidden behind a veil or a part of a turban like the Bedouins used to wear it and whoever he was, after having a look at his clothes, I was convinced, that he must have belonged to the nomads, we assaulted earlier today.

The tip of my sword touched the neck of the helpless stranger and it would have been an easy task to reunite him with his fellow companions within a wink of an eye. All it would have needed would have been a single strike of my blade, but whatever it was, it made me hesitate.

"End it, please..."

The stranger addressed me before I'd even been able to think about whether to talk to him or not. His voice sounded exhausted and tired, as if he already had surrendered to his fate and I had to inhale a deep breath to get rid of the brute desire of killing.

I felt my heartbeat quicken and I almost heard the blood pulsating through my veins, while my fingers closed that tight round the sword's hilt that it started to cause me sheer pain. Just a minor move of my hand and this already dwindling life would be no more.

Only a wink of an eye.

A split second.

Less than a gasp.

But nothing happened.

I did not do it.

Instead, I asked in a hoarse voice: "Who are you?"

The shadowy stranger in front of me summoned up all his ebbing strength to raise to his knees, then he turned round to face me...and I stared into a pair of beautiful but tired almond-shaped eyes.

"Esther! They named me Esther..."

With it her strength got used up and she curled up on the ground again letting out a painful sigh.

A girl!?

Shaking my surprise off, I knelt down by her side and offered my hand to her to help her with getting up, but she grabbed its wrist and whispered: "It's too late. There is nothing you can do for me..."

"Maybe you're wrong", I replied with a smile: "Maybe, there's a lot, I can do for you." Before she could talk back, I reached out for the piece of cloth she masked her face with and dipped it into the cold water, then I added still smiling: "Maybe it will be in vain, but if you won't let me make a try you'll have lost already."

"Will you leave me a choice", she asked.

"No", I told her: "If you want to stay alive, I won't leave you a choice."

While I carefully cleaned her face, I felt unable to turn my gaze away:

Even after all those centuries wherein the world just knew me as human incarnation of Death, I still knew the meaning of true beauty. This girl right here in front of me, Esther, closer to death than to life, was of such true beauty and neither the dim half-light of the cave nor the paleness shown upon her face or the pain mirrored within her eyes were able to change this fact.

She let it happen that I brushed some strands of black hair from her face and that I moistened her lips with the now wet piece of cloth, but her gaze never left mine, not even when she felt for my hand to lead it along her body down to the wounds she suffered from. I did not need to see them to know they were caused by two sword stokes and for the first time since I decided to live my life as Death, I had just one wish: that it was not my blade, which had caused these wounds.

I hurried to clean and dress them tentatively cutting off shreds of my cape, but she suffered from blood loss and I knew well enough that I had to get her out of here if I wanted her to stay alive. What I didn't know was, where to take her to.

The only place I could have taken her to was at the same time the place where I'd never wanted to take her to: Our camp...

That was why I asked her: "Is there a place where I can take you to?"

The words just flew over my lips. I didn't think them over.

"The nomads, the caravan – they were my family. For us, this was a sacred place. We came here for a few days of peace and recovery. It's a refuge where we could escape the merciless sun, the heat and the sand." She paused and a bitter smile appeared upon her lips: "I loved this place..."

"So did I", I replied, more to myself than to her and way more stern than I would have expected: "But that was in a different time and in another life..."

"It is destroyed, now, and there is nothing left, where I can go to..."

Her voice was soundless and a single tear ran down her cheek, then, after a moment of silence, her eyes lit up and she said: "But maybe it is true, what the eldest of our people told me, what the legends of our tribe say - that these underground springs grant more to those, who drink from them, but just refreshment. It says, that they are able to heal both, body and soul, if one believes in it..."

"You believe in it?"

"I do..."

"Then you should taste it. You deserve to heal."

I scooped some water into my hands and had her drink.

Esther beheld me intently and when her gaze melted into mine, it felt, as if she was able to read within my thoughts like within an open book. She blinked and asked: "What about you?"

"I don't think, I deserve to heal..."

"Why? Why would you not deserve to heal?"

I lowered my gaze and answered: "I committed things, I don't want to talk about in a place like this. If you'd come to know what I did and who I am, you wouldn't want to stay within my company. Trust me, neither do I earn healing nor do I earn forgiveness."

When she gave me her reply, it left me speechless: "I know, who you are, I know, what you are and I know, what it is, you don't want to talk about..."

"...and you're not afraid, I could do the same to you?"

"You had your chance, when the tip of your sword graced my neck..."

"Wherefrom...?"

"I know the stories and the legends. The Four Horsemen. Invincible, unable to die, relentless and remorseless. I believe in those things hidden from the surface. Actually, I believe in a lot of things, I want to believe in, even if I will never understand them. And, of course", she smiled a tired smile: "I saw you and your companions within the oasis..."

"Then you know, why I don't deserve forgiveness."

"If this is, what you want to believe in, you're a fool..."

"You err! No one forced me to become what I am and if you know, what I am, you also know the name I prefer! It's Death!"

I longed for being able to believe in everything, she just told me, but something deep inside me was still reluctant to change, wanted to stay the one I was. For too long had I relished, what I did. I wouldn't leave it behind, because of another moment of weakness.

I shot the girl a glare and my voice sounded cold and cynical when I went on: "If you're aware of who I am, you're also aware of what will happen to you, if I'll take you with me. You will become a slave and I won't be able to protect you..."

She did not hear me any more, passed out from blood loss and exhaustion.

'Not again...' I thought: 'Not again...' and I asked myself, what the price would be, I'd have to pay for the decision, I did make within this moment...


End file.
